“I know, right?”
“So, kitchen table then?”
“Hell yes.” I smile.
WE MAKE IT TOmy place in record time. I keep waiting for my nerves to take over, but they don’t. I keep thinking I’ll trip over my own feet (again), but I don’t. I’m the opposite of nervous now. Being with Elaine—talking with her, kissing her—fills me with confidence. This Lainie-induced swagger has me stealing looks and touches, and by the time we reach my door, I’m more inclined to break it down than to use my key.
I hold the door for her, and she steps inside, and it occurs to me that she might want a tour. That we might have to make small talk in my kitchen. That I should probably offer her water, at the very least.
Damn social conventions.
I flip the light switch in the living room as I take her coat. She shrugs it off and takes in her surroundings.
And suddenly, I’m seeing my place through her eyes, and it’s not looking so good.
It’s clean; that’s never an issue. I’m kind of a neat freak. It’s just that now that Lainie’s here, I’m noticing how loud the plaid burgundy couch is. And how it doesn’t match at all with the pea- green La-Z-Boy in the corner. And how none of it goes with the chrome coffee table.But at least that matches with the TV stand and CD tower. Oh, shit...this is bad. Why didn’t I think to redecorate before asking her out? Or why didn’t I just drag her to the bedroom, caveman style. That’s kind of where we were headed back at the bar. And it’s what a smooth guy would do, right? Get her so hot and bothered that she has no time to even see your second-hand decor.
“You have a really nice place,” Elaine lies politely. And she’s not entirely wrong. The building itself is really nice. It’s an old house, split into four apartments. I was immediately sold when I saw the place online. There’s a lot of space and a fireplace and a fenced-in yard. As a housewarming gift, my mom and my nan offered to decorate. I took them up on the offer because I’m not much of a decorator myself, and I knew they wanted to help. I’m now regretting that decision.
“And you have impeccable manners.” I take her hand and lead her into the kitchen and turn on the light there as well. Great. Now my place is lit up like an operating room, fully exposing every flaw and outdated detail. It occurs to me that we’re still holding hands and that I should probably let go and offer her a drink or maybe a blindfold—God, this wallpaper is hideous. It’s like giant alien sunflowers have taken over my kitchen, and I’m just now noticing.
“No, really, it’s a nice place. I like the exposed brick.” She leans up against the countertop and points to the wall in question.
“Me, too. But what really sold me on the place is that it’s close to everything. I can walk most places and Dunc and Bets only live a few blocks away.”
“Bets is your sister, right?”
“Yep. Well, one of them. And she’s married to Duncan Ames, my college roommate and best friend.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Four. All older. Katie is the oldest, and she’s married to Dave. Meg is in law school, Betsy’s my favorite, and Charlie is pretty cool, too, but she lives in Denver and doesn’t come home much.”
“So you’re the baby?”
“I am. Which explains the mismatched furniture. Nobody throws anything out. They just give it to me. The upside of that is that I rarely have to go shopping. The downside is that my family members all have terrible taste.”
“Not terrible…” she lies.
“Really? Because we’re surrounded by killer sunflowers.”
“My mind is not on sunflowers.”
“I’m seriously glad to hear that. What is on your mind? You thirsty?”
“Nope.”
“Hungry?”
“Not at all”
“Still wet?”
“Yes…”
“Well, then…”
HE BENDS TO KISSmy neck, and I close my eyes in anticipation.And let’s face it: I’m closing my eyes against the bright hospital-style lighting, too. This place is a nightmare, stylistically speaking. It’s like a museum devoted to every terrible interior design trend of the last thirty years. I’m sure there’s flocked wallpaper in one of these rooms and—Oh, sweet hell, this man knows what to do with his mouth, and right now, he’s only concentrating on my collarbone, and I’m seconds away from screaming my head off in unadulterated pleasure. I can only imagine what that mouth will feel like against my—“Oh, God!” He bit me. Simon Walker bit my neck like a sexy vampire, and I liked it.
